


Some Realms I Owned

by pasunedame



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Post-War of the Ring, Third Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 23:39:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16129079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasunedame/pseuds/pasunedame
Summary: Thranduil, Dol Guldur, and Celeborn.





	Some Realms I Owned

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Elizabeth Bishop's poem "One Art".

Thranduil walked among the rubbles of Dol Guldur, mindful of his step. The air felt fresher now, after the clean-up had finished. The forest had already started to heal. The trees began to stand straighter after years of being bent by the darkness. The creatures of the forest had begun to slowly return to this area. Even now there were birds on the trees around the hill, chirping loudly. He could hear the faint echoes of his army, down there at the foot of the hill. They had come to help Celeborn and his folk cleaning Dol Guldur after Galadriel threw down its walls. He was not there when she did, instead showing up not long after. It took several days, but now the Enemy’s remains had been cleared, and only the ruins of the fortress remained.

Down there, his people and Celeborn’s were mingling, using the time to relax and re-establish old ties. But he had come here alone, for he needed the time to truly look upon the ruins. During the clean-up he had not had the time to think, too busy directing and supervising. Now, though, he had the time to reflect on what had happened.

His first home in the Greenwood was truly no more.

Not that Thranduil had harboured any longing for it. Too long had Dol Guldur been the source of troubles for his people and forest. It had long ceased to be Amon Lanc. Its defeat could only bring joy and good tidings for them. And yet, a part of him felt sorrow nonetheless. For all its tainted legacy, the place was still one of happy memories for him. After all the turbulent times of the First Age, it was here that he had, for the first time in a long while, truly felt safe and at home.

After the War of Wrath, some of the people of Doriath had sailed for Aman, demoralised by the endless conflicts they faced in Middle-earth. The sinking of Beleriand had been the last straw. With the loss of their home, some simply felt that there was nothing left for them here. So they sailed West, hoping for healing and peace there. Included in this group was his mother’s brother, her only family left. 

But his mother refused to sail, and instead chose to stay in Middle-earth. His father too, refused. Instead of going West, they had turned their sights East. Oropher had spent time with the Green Elves, being Elu’s preferred liaison for his dealing with them, back when Doriath still stood proudly. Once his mother married him she had accompanied him on his journeys. They found that they enjoyed their kin’s way of life. Now that they were left homeless, they sought to build a new home, so they could live the simple life natural to the Elves. They had faith still in Middle-earth, even with all the catastrophe of the First Age. 

So they left Lindon, they and those who shared their views, and journeyed East, until they finally arrive in Greenwood. The wood-elves there had welcomed them, and years later had crowned Oropher their king. His father had originally refused, feeling that it would contradict their desire for a simple life. But the folk from Doriath wanted the protection of a king again, and they needed someone to act as their leader in dealing with other Elven realms. So Oropher finally agreed. 

They built their home in Amon Lanc then. Wanting a simple life did not mean not being prudent. They had learned their lessons from the Kinslayings. The fortress would be their refuge should anything happen. Everyone had worked together building it, the Doriathrim and Tawarwaith working side-by-side. 

Now their first home was nothing but ruins. Rubbles covered in dust and grime. Despite this, and despite millennia that had passed, Thranduil still remembered the place perfectly. This had been the square, once. A few minutes of walking, and now he was inside the palace. In this hallway he once surprised his mother with flowers on her begetting day. She had taken the flowers and put them in the vase near that door there, the one that lead to their private garden. 

And here was the fishpond. He remembered one summer afternoon spent here. He could feel sunlight on his face, the water cooling his feet, the smooth surface of the stone beneath his hand. Across from him sat Amroth and Nimrodel. It was one of the rare times when she had managed to put aside her misgivings regarding the folk from Doriath. She had deigned to visit with Amroth, though she still refused to speak their language and they in turn had teased her by refusing to talk in hers, despite being perfectly able to do so. He supposed they made a strange sight, for they would talk in Doriathrin, and she would reply in her Silvan tongue. They still enjoyed themselves immensely. Nimrodel’s head had become even more golden with sunlight shining down on her hair, while Amroth’s eyes softened every time he looked at her. It was a beautiful memory, one that Thranduil had treasured in years to come. Amroth had drowned, and probably he had been reborn in Aman. Nimrodel, though, no one knew her fate. Knowing her, she would have refused Námo’s call and remained here in her beloved forest. 

He felt another’s presence before he caught the soft sound of boots on stone. The glint of silver hair told him it was Celeborn. Sure enough, the Lothlórien Lord was picking his way through the scattered blocks of stone. 

“Your Captain told me I’d found you here.”

Thranduil inclined his head. “I thought I’d take a look around.”

Celeborn hummed. He had reached Thranduil now and stood beside him, closing his eyes to soak in the afternoon sunlight. Thranduil took this moment to observe him. During the Last Alliance, after his father’s death, he had often sought Celeborn, despite their fraying relationship. His father had moved their people north, to avoid Celeborn and Galadriel’s intrusion to Lindórinand, and it had degraded the already strained relationship. After Oropher’s death on the battlefield, though, Thranduil had found solace in Celeborn’s beloved and familiar features, those shared by the scion of Elu. He suspected Celeborn felt the same, if the time he spent in the Greenwood army’s camp was any indication.

“That room there, it used to be the sitting room, didn’t it?” the question brought Thranduil back to the present. He looked at the direction Celeborn’s finger pointed. 

He nodded. “Yes, the family’s private sitting room. I’m surprised you remember, though.”

Celeborn chuckled. “It was one of the very few times your father and my wife managed to spend time together without even the slightest insult or argument between them. Of course I remember.”

Thranduil smiled wistfully. He remembered as well. It was the last time their family was complete, though of course they hadn’t known it back then. His mother had invited Amdir and his son, along with Celeborn and his family from Lindórinand. Elrond, too, had come from Imladris. The elleth that Thranduil would eventually marry was there as well. The calm before the storm, he would say now.

He turned to look at Celeborn and found the silver lord looking at him. He raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m sorry.” Celeborn’s words caught him off guard. “What for?”

Celeborn waved his arm vaguely around. “For this.”

Thranduil snorted. “If you thought I’d be angry at your lady for destroying Dol Guldur, Cousin, you thought wrong.” He added, “It was the source of one problem after another. Good riddance, I say.”

“No, that was not what I meant,” Celeborn shook his head. “I’m not sorry the Enemy’s stronghold was destroyed. I’m sorry your former home had to fall victim to him.”

Thranduil was silent for a moment. Then he shrugged. “What is the loss of another home, at this point? We’ve lost so many, losing another was just a matter of time.” Despite his best effort, a hint of bitterness crept in. 

They stood together in silence. There wasn’t really anything to say on the subject. 

“My Lord.” They turned and saw Galion standing behind them. “The shipment from the palace is here.”

“Tell everyone they’re free to partake,” Thranduil ordered. Galion nodded, bowed and left. He glanced at Celeborn and saw him to be the one raising an eyebrow this time. “Come.”

Celeborn followed. “If it is medicine supply, Cousin, you need not send for it. My people brought enough from the Golden Wood to share with yours.”

“Oh no, not medicine, though I suppose it can be used in that context sometimes,” Thranduil answered brightly. Celeborn merely shot him a puzzling glance. “It was Dorwinion.”

Celeborn shook his head, though a smile graced his face. “I should’ve guessed.”

“Don’t worry, Cousin. I brought enough to share with your folk as well. After what they went through these past weeks, they deserved it, don’t you agree?”

“Indeed they do.”

“Galion should leave a bottle or two for my private consumption in my tent.” He jerked his head in the direction of his tent. “Help me drink it all?”

“With pleasure, Thranduil, with pleasure.”

**Author's Note:**

> In my headcanon, Oropher is the younger cousin of Celeborn (their fathers being brothers). This would make him (and Thranduil) related to both Elu Thingol and Elrond. It would also make him a Prince of Doriath, like Celeborn. I imagine he looks quite similar to Celeborn and has the same silver hair. Amdir (and his son Amroth) is also somewhere in this family tree.
> 
> Lindórinand is a Nandorin term meaning "Vale of the Land of the Singers". It is the former name of Lothlórien.
> 
> Námo is the name of the Vala more familiarly known as Mandos.
> 
> Feedback (esp constructive criticism) is appreciated.


End file.
